Note: I call those short passages that tell a part of the story from another character's viewpoint Izzies. Both this Izzy and the next one show Lee's perspective.
Lee exits the Customs area wearily, feeling the leather handle of the satchel smooth against his palm. He wonders idly how many times he has returned to Dulles from far-flung countries and who, if anyone, will be there to pick him up. Some fresh-faced kid of Beaman's, eager to ask questions but afraid to open his mouth for fear of saying something wrong? Or maybe no one among the hundreds of people in the airport will approach him, and he'll find a cab and ride in silence back into Georgetown, his satchel at his feet. He knows that its contents are important, but he is too dispirited to truly care. The floor seems to be rising up to bang against the soles of his shoes as he walks. The crowds of people before him waver like some kind of murmuring, multi-colored banner; he scans it automatically for anything suspicious. Suddenly, his eyes snap onto a slim figure in pink and ivory and grey standing at the edge of the crowd, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze high and searching. Amanda. He experiences a surge of emotion so strong that it feels like a cleansing current washing through him, yet he can't identify what that emotion is. No matter. He acts on it, bridging the distance between them in a few long strides. The satchel is at his feet and Amanda is in his arms.
Ah. He has embraced her like this only twice before, yet the sensation of her slender body held against his feels wonderfully familiar—familiar and exhilarating at the same time. Have the intense dreams that crowd his sleep nightly created this sense of déjà vu? She has laid her cheek trustingly against his shoulder, and he wonders momentarily if she can hear his heart thudding from that distance. He hopes that he's not holding her too tightly, but to be honest, the embrace can't be too close for him. He senses rather than hears a small sound, like a sigh. One of his hands has found its way to the curve of her head, his fingertips slowly exploring her fragrant hair. He longs to take her face in both of his hands and kiss her with all the intensity of what he's feeling, but he knows that he mustn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. What if she has chosen Joe? Coolness flows from his arms back into his body at the thought. What if something has happened to her family in his absence? Those thugs they arrested, were they the only ones responsible for framing Joe? If anything has happened to the boys or Dotty, he'll…
He pulls back from her in alarm, missing her warmth immediately. "Amanda, are you all right?"